


Not the Intended Use

by Caius



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dom/sub, Energy Field Sex, M/M, Plug and Play, Sadism, Tactile sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caius/pseuds/Caius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galvatron gropes Cyclonus' cockpit. In root mode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the Intended Use

"OPEN," growled Galvatron. He lay sprawled across his lieutenant's back, pinning Cyclonus flat against his berth with his full root-mode-weight, both hands groping the windows of Cyclonus' cockpit.

Cyclonus was moaning and writing even harder than usual. It was pleasing. Galvatron leaned up, a bit, to actually _enable_ Cyclonus to do his bidding--as entertaining as it was to feel the cockpit straining against him--and dug in with both hands.

Cyclonus howled. "Galvatron! Mighty One--!" His engines revved, hard, as hard as battle or spaceflight, and Galvatron laughed, triumphantly, riding his lieutenant's backside while he groped miniaturized controls and a tiny little seat with a grove in the middle of it.

 _His_ seat. _His_ groove, for _his_ tail. Galvatron revved hard himself, biting down on an antenna as his hands explored further, hitting the controls for faster and slower, right left up down forward backward, and twenty different kinds of _shoot_ , all at once in a dizzying variety of combinations.

Instinct from their joint creation told him which was which, which combinations touched off a hard rev of Cyclonus' engine, which combinations caused Cyclonus to float a foot off the bed, howling in pleasure and confusion, until Galvatron squeezed another one, sending them crashing down hard, berth nearly buckling at the collision. But of course his lieutenant was more than strong enough to take it. 

"Mighty One--" Cyclonus moaned, and then stopped, gasping incoherently, almost as if he was holding something _back_.

And _that_ was simply unacceptable. Galvatron bit, hard, jabbing his hand in the vague direction of Cyclonus' throttle, interface cabling twining possessively around Cyclonus' thighs, binding Cyclonus' own panels closed to feel them shudder and pulse in desperation.

After all, Cyclonus wanted him, _needed_ him, more than energon or conquest or life itself, and _that_ was what Galvatron wanted right now.

Cyclonus' silence broke first into incoherence, and then--almost imperceptible over the racing engine, the writhing of Cyclonus' body as it strained (not) to transform and expand--and yet so very, very clear in the whole motion of his body and pulse of his energy field, helpless and _desperate_ for Galvatron--"Please," Cyclonus gasped. "My Lord. I--please."

Cyclonus didn't _ask_. 

Galvatron was poised for an astrosecond between outrage and triumph--his _pleasure_ went easily enough with either sentiment--and he pressed his fingers in harder, shoving into places (that were designed for Galvatron's hand) that they didn't fit, that buckled and cracked as Galvatron tore through delicate circuitry, and Cyclonus cried out, in pleasure and pain but almost--it couldn't be--in distress. 

No. It could. It _was_.

And it was _hot_. Galvatron dug in further, tearing up entire instrument panels and digging under them, pressing his heated cannon against delicate circuitry and listening to Cyclonus scream and writhe and cry out, and _not_ in his usual unadulterated joy. 

Galvatron would have to remember this. Oh yes.

Hands weren't enough, even the cannon wasn't enough, Galvatron almost wanted to get _all_ of him in there (but he wouldn't), to make Cyclonus produce more of those hotly conflicted _sounds_ , to make his energy field ripple in confusion and hurt and yet not even _consider_ fighting back. 

Head, yes, clearly. Galvatron pulled his hands out--there was only so much room in there, of course--shoving his full helm into the cockpit, crown tearing at the edges and getting scuffed on the inside of the windows.

Cyclonus screamed. "Mighty Galvatron!" and his energy field sparked into a hard overload--from the feel of it, completely involuntary and utterly agonizing. 

Galvatron hummed in delight. There were new wonders in his lieutenant every day! 

Galvatron's hands were now free, so he tore Cyclonus' 'facing panels open, plugging in hard as he bit down on Cyclonus' joystick, tongue lapping at the energy from the bare cording, sending Cyclonus into convulsions half his own and half from Galvatron's manipulation of his controls. And this time Galvatron could _feel_ just how much it cost Cyclonus to submit to him, to allow this without protest and barely with any plea. 

He sucked hard on the remains of the joystick, jerking it hard towards him as he pulsed his pleasure in utter dominance _hard_ through the link.

Cyclonus shuddered into another agonizing overload, and this time Galvatron rode it, rode the agony, rode _Cyclonus_ hard, one hand wrapping around his neck, tearing the helm up and around as if using the joystick in the cockpit. (Perhaps he would ride _astride_ Cyclonus through space, yes, all the power and control with none of the confinement!)

 _YES_!

Galvatron's overload was powerful enough to overwhelm even _him_. His teeth dug in deeper, his hands jerked closer together, tearing at Cyclonus' neck-plating and tearing his thigh up and backwards into a ninety-degree angle as his overload enveloped them both, driving them up almost to the ceiling as Cyclonus' plating struggled to reshape itself under Galvatron's touch and Galvatron held and controlled and _took_.

And then, literally, they crashed. 

"Good," Galvatron said, absently, as he rearranged himself just slightly into a more comfortable position, still resting his helm in Cyclonus' cockpit. 

And he fell into contented recharge.


End file.
